Love Comes Blindly (book 5) (The Fielding Brothers Saga)

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or
dead,
is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

Love Comes Blindly

Copyright
© 2011 by Marie Higgins

Cover Design by Sheri
McGathy

Edition License Notes

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ebook
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http://mariehiggins84302.blogspot.com

If love isn’t blind to past indiscretions, can absence truly make the heart grow fonder?

Gregory Fielding has been wounded when he travels to Scotland to find the next big story for his London newspaper.
 
Now blinded, he relies on the soft, comforting touch of one of the nurses at St. Mary’s Abbey.
 
He thinks she’s a novice, but that doesn’t stop him from wanting to give her his heart.

Madeline O’Neil cannot believe her misfortune.
 
The man she had almost married three years ago is back in her life.
 
Gregg doesn’t know who she is and she doesn’t dare tell him.
 
Not until she makes him like the new Madeline.
 
But as each day passes and her heart
grows
fonder, she fears he’ll hate her for certain once his eyesight returns.
 
Especially when he discovers the secret she’s been keeping from him for three years…

Dedication

Here is another dedication to my readers. You’ve finally made it to the last book in the Fielding Brothers Saga! I hope you’ve enjoyed reading these stories as much as I’ve enjoyed writing them. I hope you read the other stories I have out as well.

Edinburgh, Scotland 1856

“It’s too quiet. There’s something amiss.” Gregory Fielding held up his hand and glanced around. The four men on horseback slowed their steeds. Morning dew gleamed off the grass and dripped from the trees on their route through the rocky hills of Scotland’s Highlands. Although the land was beautiful and peaceful beyond compare, an eerie stillness hung upon the air.

Gregg ground his teeth and gripped the reins tighter. He’d been in and out of scrapes most of his life in one form or another. Living precariously suited him
well,
and owning one of London’s biggest newspapers helped give him the adventure he craved. Today’s meeting with the man who’d been a General in the Crimean War would bring in more readers. Soon Gregg would be very wealthy.

Yet his thrill waned. Was he riding into danger? He and his journalist colleagues were all eager to hear this soldier’s story. It was well worth their long trek. Now the chills running up Gregg’s spine told him differently.

“Keep a sharp eye, men.” He spoke low, but loud enough for his friends to hear. “I feel we are being watched.”

“Fielding.”
His best friend, Lord Calvin Drake, eased up beside him. “Do not think I doubt you, but I’m beginning to have concerns about the person who invited you here. There are too many places behind these large rocks for thieves to hide.”

Gregg nodded. “I agree. We need to watch each other’s backs.”

“And pray like we’ve never prayed before,” Mr. Jonathan Black muttered as he drew an invisible cross over his thin chest.

Harvey Westland, one of Gregg’s artists, pointed to the rocks. “What is that over there? I thought I saw something.”

Gregg squinted, hoping to see what his friend was looking at.
“Where?”
After a moment, he shook his head. “There’s nothing.”

“Perhaps I’m jittery, too. Silence is too thick out here,” Harvey said running his fingers through his curly red hair.

Gregg nodded. Indeed, it was quiet. Not even the squawk of a bird disrupted the stillness. That was unusual, and Gregg feared his colleagues suspected danger, too. He urged his horse forward slowly, studying each rock, each cliff and each tree. It had been a while since he prayed, and he silently said a quick one.

Gregg looked toward another large rock, his hand shielding the sun’s brightness from his eyes. Up on a hillside, the sun glared off steel, almost blinding him. He groaned and his heart plummeted. Was it a sword or a pistol? Either weapon could kill.

He reined his horse to a stop and listened. Above them came a screaming hiss, and the pungent odor of gunpowder filled the air.
A cannon
? What the devil?

“Take cover,” Gregg yelled. “Someone is trying to kill us!”

A loud thunder shook the ground and then all around him the land blew apart, sending grass and stone to cover him and his men. Pain exploded in Gregg’s head.

He’d been hit!

He fell into a mindless tunnel and everything around him turned black.

* * * *

Madeline O’Neil hooked a basket over her arm and strolled toward the garden. As she passed the Abbey’s chapel, a choir of nuns sang praises to God in beautiful harmony. Madeline smiled, peace settling in her chest.

It had taken her a few years to feel this way. Finally, she was able to put her past behind her and move forward, enjoying life once again.

She wasn’t a nun or even a novice, but the Sisters at the church welcomed her as if she had been one of them all along. They’d forgiven Madeline’s past sins and worked with her as she slowly set her life aright.

Madeline hadn’t been a good person growing up, and she’d hurt a lot of people. Once she started changing, she promised herself the old
Maddie
was dead and buried. Now people liked the new Madeline, the kind and giving Madeline. Even the townspeople accepted her. Then again, she was in Scotland now, and none of these fine people knew how she’d been three years ago.

Before she reached the garden, a shout from up the dirt road captured her attention. High on his wagon seat, Mr.
Heslop
waved frantically, shouting and pointing to the back of his wagon. Because of the choir of nuns, it was hard to hear what he said.

She hurried toward him. “What? I cannot hear you.”

The middle-aged man from town who’d always made deliveries to the Abbey whipped the reins on his team, urging them faster. Panic pulled his expression tight. “Need help, quickly.
Injured men!”
He pointed toward the back of his wagon again. “They’re losing blood, fast.”

Gasping, she spun around and dashed toward the Abbey, panic beating in her heart with each step taken. Reverend Mother would know what to do.

Madeline pushed the doors open and hurried inside. “Reverend Mother!” Out of breath, her chest rose and fell quickly as she searched for the older woman. Nuns stopped and stared as she dashed through the Abbey. “I need the Reverend Mother!” she yelled.

“Hush, me child. I’m right here.” The Reverend Mother’s thick Scottish burr was calming, as was her presence.

“Mr.
Heslop
is bringing in some injured men.” Madeline pointed toward the door. “He says they have lost a lot of blood.”

Gasps bounced around the room, scattering the nuns as they ran to help. Several nuns prepared cots, towels, water basins, and cloths. Madeline stood back, amazed by how each woman knew exactly what to do. She couldn’t ask what her own job might be, not now during the shuffle.

Minutes later, neighboring farm hands carried in three injured men and placed them on the cots. Blood coated the wounded from head to toe. One man was worse than the others, although he was still conscious and moaning.

Bile rose to her throat and she wanted to cover her ears. She wanted to plug her nose from the scent of burned flesh that hung thick in the room. Yet all she could do was
stare
.

Since the hospital was too far away, the Abbey helped when the occasion called for it. Madeline had seen people come through here, mainly sick or afflicted with broken bones. But never in her life had she seen so much blood as now.

Reverend Mother issued orders to the nuns. She met Madeline’s stare and nodded. “Grab the pitcher of
water,
and a basin and follow me.”

Obediently, Madeline did as instructed.

Everyone knew the Reverend Mother had been through battles before and was used to blood and burned flesh, but Madeline was not. She held her breath and fought the nausea rising to her throat. The wounded men looked close to death. Madeline hurried to the one who lay on the first cot. A bloody dressing had been wrapped around his eyes and nose, and the bandage was thick around his head. Black gunpowder coated his skin and most of his tattered clothes.

Madeline sat on the chair beside the bed and dipped a cloth into the warm water. Although the man lay unconscious, she feared she’d hurt him even as she gently washed his mouth and chin, not daring to remove the bandage covering the top part of his head. The doctor they’d sent for didn’t live far away and he would take care of that.

The injured man’s wide shoulders and lean waist held strips of clothing where his shirt had once been. He was fortunate he hadn’t lost his limbs. Her attention moved to the man on the next cot and she cringed. One arm was bandaged, and his knee was blown apart, leaving flesh and bone exposed. He—on the other hand—might lose his leg.

Shivers of dread ran over her and she swallowed the bile threatening to surface. What had these men done to put them in the path
of a
cannon?

“Reverend Mother,” Sister Mary Beth cried from the other side of the room as she tried to hold down one of the men. “He’s losing too much blood. He’s convulsing and I cannot control him.”

More nuns ran to the cot to assist. Madeline blinked back tears, focusing on her patient again so she wouldn’t have to witness the other man’s agony. As she washed the black powder from her patient’s lower face, finely curved lips and a square jaw stood prominent. The more dirt she cleaned away, the more handsome he became, even though she couldn’t see the top part of his face.

She had to strip the rags of shirt that clung to his body, washing him before coating the cuts with ointment. His chest was magnificent.
Very muscular.
It had been quite a while since she’d seen a man’s chest or touched one so intimately.